


On Boxes and Broken Men

by bearclaws



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearclaws/pseuds/bearclaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Things never worked out the way you wanted them to and Tony wasn’t going to be another person he ruined. Not another person left behind in the Hulk’s crashing wake."</p>
<p>Bruce doesn't think his fantasies can be realities. Can Tony convince him otherwise?</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Boxes and Broken Men

 

_*_

_"We accept the love we think we deserve."_  

 

_*_

_“I can’t do this anymore, Tony.” Pepper sat on their bed, looking as composed as ever, while Tony stood in front of her. “I’ll still work for Stark if you want me to, but if it’s too weird I’ll find work somewhere else.” She placed a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry.”_

_After a few moments, Tony said, “It’s fine. Take some time off if you want. Of course you still have a job here if you want it.”_

_Pepper studied Tony. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I’ll go, then.” She grabbed her bag and went to the door, but hesitated “I can deal with being second best. I know your work is important. And I’ve dealt with your… problems. I do love you. But lately…” She looked hard at Tony. “It’s like I’m not even there any more. I care about you, but this isn’t what I want.”_

_“I get it. You deserve better.”_

_Pepper took one last look at Tony, her mouth tight, and left._

*

Bruce sat as his desk surrounded by papers covered in equations and theories and diagrams. The words and calculations swam in front of him; he blinked, pushing up his glasses with one hand so he could massage his eyes. He had been up too long - Tony had turned in hours ago, so Bruce knew it had to be nearly morning. He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. Maybe he’d head off…

“You’re still up?”

Bruce jerked up in his seat to see Tony leaning against the doorframe of the lab dressed in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, arc reactor glowing softly in the dim light. Swallowing, Bruce looked down and replied, “Yeah… Yeah, I’m working on that problem we ran into earlier.” Tony was hard to talk to when he wasn’t wearing a shirt. When all Bruce wanted to do was trail his hands over his chest, kiss his neck and stomach and scars, hook his fingers in the waistband of his pants— 

Bruce blinked away his fantasies as Tony moved over to his desk and examined a few of the papers. He had definitely been up too long. Fiddling with his pencil, Bruce said, “I think I’ve figured out a way around it.” He pulled out a few sheets of paper to show Tony, his hands needing something to do, something to distract the rest of himself from this… situation. “We need to adjust the formula. There are a few things we haven’t accounted for.” Frowning, he put the end of the pencil in his mouth and stared at an equation. “The barrier, too…” He started to scribble a couple of things down, but stopped as he felt Tony’s fingertips brush his shoulder. 

“I love it when you talk science.” Tony’s voice was soft. His stomach twisting, Bruce turned in his chair to look up at Tony. The intensity of the other man’s gaze was startling. Bruce stood, taking a small step back and nearly falling over his chair. His mouth dry, he met Tony’s eyes, something inside of him yearning to step forward, but he knew he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Then Tony leaned towards him and Bruce’s breath caught in his throat. “It really turns me on.” Bruce’s hands gripped the edge of his desk, Tony hovering mere millimeters over his body. He was trying to control his breathing, but suddenly breathing was really hard work. Was he dreaming? He really had been up too long.

“What are you doing?” asked Bruce, his voice weak. 

“You, hopefully.” And with that, Tony leant in to kiss Bruce, and his lips were soft, and oh, god, it felt so _good_ , too good to be a dream, but no —

Bruce held up a hand and placed it on Tony’s chest, arc reactor cool to the touch. “Tony… Stop. We can’t do this. You… You’re with Pepper.”  

“She left me, Banner. A couple of weeks ago. Did I not tell you?”

Bruce’s pulse quickened. He had suspected something, but, now… Now he had no excuse. A thousand possibilities lay before him, a thousand futures unrolling, opening up like flowers to the sun, presenting themselves to Bruce and asking _what if, what if?_  

But. No. 

Meeting Tony’s eyes, Bruce swallowed down his fantasies and made a conscious choice. His next words were careful, quiet, controlled. 

“And I’m, what, your rebound?” 

Tony blinked. “Of course not.” They stared at each other. Bruce saw the confusion billowing behind Tony’s eyes, rejection foreign to the billionaire boy genius. Tony took a step back, then turned and left without saying a word.

Bruce watched him go, taking deep breaths in a futile attempt to still his heart. 

 

*

The next day, Tony walked into the lab a lot later than usual, which was saying something. Bruce looked up at him as he walked in, then right back down at the jumble of wires and metal in his hands. He couldn’t get last night out of his head. Meditating had failed; Tony kept drifting in, ruining everything, and counting or repeating mantras didn’t help. Tony was just too… Obnoxious. In every way. 

_(And beautiful.)_

“Afternoon, doctor.”

“Hi,” said Bruce. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Yourself?”

“Good. I’m good. Working on that prototype.”

“Looks great,” replied Tony. He hovered at Bruce’s desk for a few moments before going to a computer. Bruce stared at Tony’s back, frowning, then looked back down at his hands. He had thought a lot about what he could say to Tony, but he had never really been good at the actual… doing. Minutes passed in silence broken only by the light sounds of metal tapping against metal as Bruce fiddled with screwdrivers and cables, and Tony moving around, playing with things on the computers. 

Tony’s voice cut through the thick silence. “About last night—”

Bruce held up a hand. “It’s fine. You’ve just had a break up. You weren’t thinking clearly.”

At that, Tony was quiet, and when Bruce looked at him he looked amused rather than angry or upset. “You’re pretty oblivious, sometimes, you know that?” said Tony. 

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tony walked to Bruce’s desk. “You’re gorgeous, Banner. And you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and I want to do unspeakable things to you. Every time you say something brilliant I get a little hard. I haven’t had this many random boners since I was thirteen. I’ve wanted to bend you over this desk since the day I met you.”

At those confessions, saturated with lust, and at Tony’s intense look, Bruce’s mind felt like it was melting. He fumbled desperately for words as Tony leant closer. “I… What?”

Tony closed his eyes. “How can someone so smart be so stupid at the same time?” he said, more to the general world than to anyone in particular. He opened his eyes and said, as if he was speaking to a child, “Are you interested in me or not?”

Bruce looked down at his hands, his heart feeling like it was going to burst out of his chest at any moment. He knew what he wanted to do, but he also knew what he had to do, and he wished they could be the same, but they weren’t. It wasn’t simple or easy because nothing ever was. Things never worked out the way you wanted them to and Tony wasn’t going to be another person he _ruined_. Not another person left behind in the Hulk’s crashing wake. 

He stood, said, “I’m sorry, Tony. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” and left the room.  

 

*

“I don’t understand. I thought he liked me.”

“You sound like a twelve-year-old girl.”

“I feel like one. I feel like I need to write in my diary. And put hearts all around his name.” Tony did an overdramatic sigh, leaning on his hand and staring into the distance. “Mr Tony Banner — wait, who am I kidding? Mr Bruce Stark… Actually, that has a nice ring to it.”

Clint snorted. Natasha, sitting next to him, shook her head. It was mid-morning, a Saturday, Bruce was holed up in the lab and Tony had called Clint and Natasha for a conference, pizza for breakfast included. He thought he would get some comfort and advice, and he kind of was, with a side helping of sarcastic comments and exasperated sighs. To be expected, really. 

“You don’t get it,” said Natasha, jabbing a finger in Tony’s direction. “He’s like a deer. You’ve moved too fast and scared him away.”

Clint nodded sagely next to her. “You’ve got to groom him,” he said, taking a bite of pizza.

“You make me sound like some creepy sexual offender,” Tony said. 

“You kind of are,” said Clint, smirking. 

Tony narrowed his eyes and bit his lip, leaning over the table. “You loved that night.”

Natasha jabbed Tony’s shoulder and said, “Seriously, Iron Man. If you want him you’re going to have to work at it. Remember, Bruce isn’t like you — he has morals. You’ve just got out of a relationship and he thinks you’re rebounding. He doesn’t pay attention to what’s going on outside of that lab; he doesn’t understand that this break up has been in the making for months. Let’s face it, you two were over long ago.”

Tony sighed, picking up a slice of pizza. “Maybe you guys are right. So, what, I’ve got to romance him? Wine and dine? I don’t think I even know how to move slowly.”

“Just ignore all your natural urges and instincts,” said Clint. “Don’t be yourself. Do everything the opposite of what you’d usually do.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay. We’ll try it your way. Operation Seduce Bruce is a go.” 

 

*

Days later. 

Bruce stared into the darkness. The clock on his bedside table glowed softly. _2:23AM_. He was thinking about Tony. He was always thinking about Tony, especially at 2am. Tony, with his wide smiles, his strong hands, his jokes and his laugh, his adorable concentration face when he was really working hard on a problem…

He remembered the first time he met Tony. He had gone to a conference, he was presenting a recent paper, he didn’t remember, all he remembered from that trip was seeing Tony Stark for the first time. All eyes had been on him and the pretty young thing on his arm. Bruce was standing at the bar sipping a coke and trying to stay away from the crowd. Then Tony had walked up to the bar and ordered a whiskey. His arms looked amazing in that $1000 suit. Bruce felt small and cheap in comparison. Still, as Tony glanced around, his eyes met Bruce’s, and he smiled.  “Enjoying yourself?” asked Tony, and Bruce shrugged, offering a nervous smile. Tony had laughed, clapped his hand on Bruce’s shoulder and walked away. Bruce watched him go. 

That had been years ago. Years. They had both been through a lot since then. He wasn’t surprised Tony hadn’t remembered him. 

Sighing, Bruce sat up and grabbed his glasses. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, thinking maybe a walk and some water would help ease his restless mind. It wouldn’t, but he’d try anyway. 

He passed the living room of Stark Tower, where warm light spilled out from under the door. Bruce hesitated. All the others were off on assignments. Before he had time to make a decision, his hand had opened the door and he was walking into the living room.

Out of the floor-to-ceiling windows the night was deep and the sky cloudy. Tony was sitting on the couch, watching TV on low volume. Bruce walked over and Tony looked up at him, smiling. “Hey there, Hulky,” he said, patting the space next to him. He gestured to the open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. “Want a drink?”

“No, thanks,” said Bruce, sitting down. “I don’t really drink.”

“Neither do I,” Tony said sardonically, tipping him a wink. The light from the TV played over Tony’s face, exaggerating the bags under his eyes, the lines in his face, the stubble shadowing his jaw. 

“I like to stay in control of myself,” Bruce explained, dragging his eyes away from Tony’s face. He was impossible not to admire, even when he looked a little worse for wear. “You know what happens when I lose control.” He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Tony, who was staring at him. Bruce smiled, and Tony smiled back, then picked up his glass and turned to watch TV. Silence stretched between them. 

Then Tony turned to him and asked, “Why are you awake anyway? Who are you pining over?”

“No one.” _Lie._ “I don’t sleep much.” _Truth._  

“The other guy keeping you awake?”

Bruce smiled. “Something like that.”

Silence. 

Then, “Do you ever think about you people you’ve hurt?”

Tony said hurt but Bruce knew what he meant. They were the type of people that didn’t just hurt. They killed, destroyed, _ruined_. Saved the world, yes, but ruined places, ruined people. And after the last person he had hurt, the last person he had _ruined_ , Bruce had made himself a promise. He had vowed to himself that he would hold onto that night, and he folded the regret, the sorrow, the anger, the smell of remorse (which smelt a lot like gasoline burning under the harvest moon), the bitter taste of _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ , the crawling, shifting shame under his skin — he folded all those emotions and sensations into a little box and he carried it with him wherever he went. It nestled in his gut. He never forgot it was there; it stabbed at him and wore him down. And whenever something else happened, something that reminded him of what he was capable of, of what could happen to those around him, well, he took those times and he noted all the feelings and he squeezed them tight into that box. 

Sometimes he had dreams. Just a box on a floor and him, trapped in a little glass cage, pounding against the glass, screaming, but no one could hear him, and all the people crowded around the box and picked it up and spoke quiet words — _Bruce, Bruce, look what’s happened to him, this is all he is_ — and they ran their fingers around the lid of the box and Bruce’s throat would be red raw through the screaming of _no, no, no, don’t, no, you mustn’t_ —

But they never heard him. 

And on cold starless nights when he was plagued with ‘ _what if’_ s, he opened that box and he felt that night, those nights, all the times, and he turned away. And each time the box grew a little more uncomfortable. Each time it seemed the box grew, or maybe _he_ was getting smaller, his organs and his soul shrinking around the box so that soon, there would be no Bruce, only box. 

Bruce’s next words were quiet, drawn from deep inside of him. “All the time.”

“I see their faces every night.” 

Bruce didn’t know who ‘they’ was. He didn’t ask. He could hazard guesses. 

“Sorry,” said Tony, glancing at Bruce. “I’m a profound and complicated man, you know. I’m not just the billionaire playboy philanthropist everyone makes me out to be.” He frowned. “Oh, wait. I said that.”

Bruce smiled. “It’s fine. I know what you mean. It keeps me up too. That’s why I try to help people.” 

“Yeah, I’m not good at helping. I’m not really a team player, you know?”

“You’ve helped a lot of people. You’ve changed the face of science. You’re a genius.”

“You forgot devastatingly handsome.”

Bruce laughed, quietly, and rubbed the back of his neck. “That too.” 

“So, you agree? You think I’m handsome?” 

“Ah, well…” Bruce searched for words but came up blank. He had never really been good at this kind of thing, this flirting, and with Tony it was even worse, because every cell in his body just screamed for him. Every look they shared was filled with unspoken desire, and Tony was smiling at him, amused, and he was so beautiful when he smiled. Bruce smiled back, his heart thumping in his chest. 

“I remember that day, you know.”

Bruce blinked. “What day?"

“When we met. In Munich. That conference. At the bar.” Tony smiled. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“Of course not.” _How could I?_ “Did you even know who I was?”

“How could I not recognise the famous Bruce Banner? I had admired your work for years. I went to your presentation. I couldn’t fathom how someone so quiet and humble could be so captivating at the same time. It was amazing.”

Bruce stared at Tony, who looked wistful, his words and smile genuine. “I didn’t know you were watching.”

“Well, you know me. I always keep a low profile.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I don’t know. You seemed so collected and together. And hot.”

Bruce tried very hard not to blush. _Hot?_ “I can’t imagine me ever threatening you.”

“You don’t know what you do to me.” 

Bruce saw what Tony was doing, opening himself up, and he couldn’t understand, but he was falling more in love every moment. No one compared to Tony. He wanted him. He wanted to give in, to tell Tony how he felt, but he was scared of what that meant. Blood rushed in his ears as Bruce stared at Tony’s beautiful face, his feelings overwhelming, and he felt something inside of him shake, he felt like he was going to vomit, too many feelings to control, and, _take a breath, Bruce, count to 10_ —

He felt Tony’s hand on his knee, heard his voice - “Bruce, are you okay?” - except it sounded lightyears away. Grappling with the thing inside of him, Bruce took another breath, green creeping in the corners of his vision and no not here not now not with _Tony_ —

And that was it, wasn’t it? He couldn’t hurt Tony. 

One more deep breath and the green faded. “Bruce?” Tony sounded worried. 

“I have to go,” said Bruce, shaking, his voice weak. 

“No, Bruce. Stay.”

Bruce stood. “I’m sorry.” 

Tony stood too, but Bruce pushed past him. He left and went straight to his bedroom, collapsing on his bed and staring at the ceiling. He wished he hadn’t left like that. He wanted to run back to Tony, to take him in his arms, to kiss his scars until he was healed. He wanted to tell him that he was sorry, and that he understood, and that he wanted him, he did, and he was sorry for waiting. But instead he rolled over, willing sleep upon himself, wondering if Tony ever did the same thing.

 

*

 

Over the next few weeks, Bruce often found Tony late at night. They’d sit together, Bruce listening to Tony talk about anything and everything, offering his opinion when it was appropriate but mostly just enjoying the sound of Tony’s voice. At night, when it was just the two of them… Tony was different. 

Bruce had been lonely for so long. 

He couldn’t deny the feelings growing inside of him, winding their way around his organs, slowly suffocating his insides. He fell more in love with Tony every day. Every day, he found more things about the man to admire and appreciate. The way Tony’s mouth quirked when he smiled, the curve of his spine as he bent over machinery, his hands, rough and deft and unlike Bruce’s own thin, careful ones. The way Tony fiddled with everything that he came into contact with, he way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating, his laugh… Bruce followed the paths Tony’s eyes wandered down and he wanted to come too. 

Bruce thought about leaving. He thought about packing a bag and just going. He was good at making himself invisible, good at hiding - but something kept him here. Whenever he decided to do it, another part of him resisted. He couldn’t leave; he was in too deep. 

One particular night, Tony wasn’t in the living room, or the kitchen, or the bar. Disappointment flooded Bruce’s stomach until he was walking back to his room and saw one of the balcony doors open. He stepped out into the crisp autumn air, the night sky cloudless and starless. Tony was leaning against the balcony, staring over the city. A cool breeze slightly lifted Bruce’s hair.

“Where have you been, Banner? You’re late. I’m disappointed.”

“Sorry, Stark.” The use of the last name felt odd on his tongue. He didn’t like it. “I didn’t know you were out here.”

“Why would I miss such a beautiful evening?”

Bruce looked out at the city view. It was quite beautiful, he supposed, all those dots of light. So many people. So many lives. He stood next to Tony, feeling the heat of the other man’s arm next to his. He took a breath of the cool night air. Tony started to talk about a project he was working on, an upgrade to the suit. Tony’s voice washing over him, Bruce stared out at the city, wondering how he had gone from Calcutta to standing next to a billionaire genius superhero as if it was normal. And it was, somehow. It felt right. Bruce’s gaze moved from the view to Tony’s face, watching the man’s mouth move as he talked, and then Tony stopped talking and Bruce realised he hadn’t really registered a word the man had said. Tony looked at him. “What are you staring at, pretty boy?”

Bruce blinked and looked away. “Sorry. Spacing out.” _Pretty boy?_

“Admiring me, were you?” He could hear the smirk in Tony’s voice. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. I constantly get approached in the street, you know, asked to model, that kind of stuff. People want me to sell perfumes, underwear…” Bruce glanced at him, definitely _not_ picturing Tony as an underwear model. Tony smiled, and Bruce smiled back. Then, suddenly, Tony’s hand was on his cheek and Bruce’s heart was in his throat.

Bruce couldn’t even stutter out a single syllable before Tony leaned in and kissed him. His lips were so soft, and Bruce stepped closer to Tony, wanting more, needing it, his body on fire — “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” said Tony, breaking the kiss and pressing his jaw against Bruce’s cheek. 

And then Bruce’s brain and body crashed together and he took a step back, mumbling, “Stop.”

Tony laughed. He took a step forward, reaching for Bruce, but Bruce laid a hand on Tony’s chest to stop him, the light from the arc reactor glowing around his fingers. 

“No,” he said. “We can’t.” 

Tony stared at Bruce, his eyes narrowing slightly. “This really isn’t some rebound thing.”

Bruce shook his head and took a deep breath. 

_Why me?_ Was what he wanted to say. _Why now?_

_Kiss him._ Was what he wanted to do. _Touch him._

_Tell him._

But he didn’t dare. The thing in his guts throbbed and burned. He didn’t dare give in to this thing gripping his skin, and so instead he said, his voice filled with pain, “I’m sorry. I just don’t think this is really what you want.” And he stared at Tony, something inside of him cracking a little, feeling like the wires in his heart were breaking, and he did the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He turned, and he walked away.  

 

*

 

Tony didn’t show up the next day. Or the next. Bruce pretended he didn’t notice the empty case where Tony’s suit usually hung.  

 

*

 

The bottles in front of Tony all glittered in the strobe-light, seducing him, begging him to tongue kiss them, all dressed in black begging him to eat them out. And he couldn’t resist. He drank. He drank at dirty bars and high-end clubs, and he drank alone in his hotel room, and he met people who were the same as him, and they took pills and powders together, and Tony got more fucked than he had been in a long, long time. He never wanted to come down, because _this_ , this was better than day when all he could think about was how much of a failure he was. 

He wished there wasn’t any pain, but he couldn’t pretend there wasn’t, and what do you do when you’re in pain? You take medication. He knew he shouldn’t, but this was all he knew; he had no idea how to handle the feelings writhing inside of him. Thinking about going back to that rejection and embarrassment and seeing _him_ made Tony want to fly to the edge of the universe, or stay in this hotel room until no one remembered him. 

It’s not hard to fall when you float like a cannonball. 

He’d wake in the morning and the spell would be broken. The sun would come up and he’d turn back into himself, and every morning he woke up he wished he hadn’t. Because it didn’t work.

The girls he brought back to his hotel room didn’t mind the alcohol on his breath. Giggled as he arranged lines on their stomachs. Gasped as he thrust into them. They wanted him, and it felt good. They kissed him and touched him and it felt good but _it didn’t work_.

The boys would wince as Tony dug his nails into their hips, but they liked it, because, well, he was Tony Stark, and he liked it because, well, when you’re so high you never want to come down, everything tight and warm feels good. And he never imagined the boys he picked up at bars were _him_ because, well, because he didn’t. It was a Rule. 

But it didn’t work.

Nothing worked.

 

*

 

After five days of Tony being gone, while Bruce was working, someone walked into the lab. His head shot up from the computer embarrassingly fast, his stomach churning - _oh god what will I say_ \- then dropping as he saw who it was. “Oh. Natasha. Hi.” Bruce stepped forward, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Good mission?”

“Yeah,” replied Natasha, looking around the lab. “Where’s Tony?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. He left a few days ago.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did he go?”

Bruce faltered. “I… I don’t know.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Well, I had a message for him. I guess it’ll have to wait.” She considered Bruce. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Bruce had no idea what Natasha would want to talk about, but he was ever the meek, obliging scientist. “Of course.”

“Why are you doing this to Tony? And yourself?”

Taken aback, Bruce fiddled with a pencil in his hand. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, come on.” Natasha moved forward. “You’re both crazy about each other. Why are you pushing him away?”

“I… I don’t…”

“Don’t bullshit me, Banner.” 

“We… aren’t right for each other,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the air. 

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think Tony’s fully right for anyone, personally, but you two… You’re good together. That’s not the reason. Tell me, Bruce.”

Bruce adjusted his glasses and sighed. “I can’t be with him. I can’t be with anyone.” Natasha’s face said it all, and Bruce carried on, gesturing vaguely. “I’m dangerous. 

“I highly doubt you could be as dangerous to Tony as Tony is to himself.” Natasha sat down in a chair opposite Bruce and stared hard at him. “He knows what he’s getting himself into.”

Bruce shook his head, looking away. “He doesn’t. He doesn’t get it.” He was silent for a few moments, then looked back at Natasha, and said in a quiet, almost pleading voice, “I always have to leave. In the end.”

Natasha sat back and considered the man before her, and then she stood, and came over to place a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “No, Bruce,” she said. “You don’t.” The words hung in the air as she left the room, Bruce staring after her. 

 

*

Not knowing where Tony was, what he was doing, that was the worst thing. Bruce tossed and turned, walked through the house, just hoping he would walk into the living room and see Tony there on the coach. Everything back how it was.  

Sometimes Bruce would flick through the glossy travel magazines Pepper had her assistants leave on the coffee table. He liked looking at the high definition photos of mountain ranges, of lakes, rivers, forests, snow and ice. Sometimes he looked at pictures of awe-inspiring Chinese valleys and he couldn’t believe beauty like that existed in the world. It was the same when he looked at Tony. The same creeping, slightly nauseating feeling of _this is so beautiful and it’s happening to me and, how, why?_ It was the same crushing feeling he got when he thought about how even though he transformed into this horrible monster, in the grand scheme of the universe he was tiny, minuscule, unworthy and unimportant. 

Tony made him feel different though. Tony made him feel important, like he was worth something. Bruce had always thought no one could save him, but Tony made him feel different. 

And that was why he went to Natasha. It had been a week. 

“I’m worried about Tony.”

“We’ll find him,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”

Bruce followed her and stood back as she talked to Fury, as they sent out feelers and tracked him down. They were going to send Natasha, but Bruce shook his head. “It has to be me,” he said. They just nodded and sent him to the helicopter. 

 

*

 

He took breaths as they flew, trying to clear his mind and keep the green at bay. Something in his stomach burned. Another breath. And another. Keep it together. 

 

*

 

If only he was Superman, and could spin the whole planet round backwards.

 

*

 

Fury hammered on Tony’s hotel room door, ignoring the ‘do not disturb’ sign hanging from the handle. 

“Maybe he’s not in there?” asked Bruce, after a few fruitless minutes. Fury shook his head. “He’s in there,” he said, then turned his attention back to the door. “Tony! Upon up!” 

A minute or so passed, then the door opened. Tony stood there in his underwear, bags under his eyes, unshaven, smelling faintly of booze and cigarettes. He looked at Fury, then at Bruce, his face blank. All the words Bruce had perfected on the ride there evaporated; his brain filled with a painful silence instead. 

“What are you doing here, Tony?” asked Fury.  

“Relaxing,” replied Tony, impassive. 

“Oh yeah, you look really relaxed. Stop being an idiot and come back to New York.”

Tony’s eyes met Bruce’s as he answered, “No thanks.”

Fury opened his mouth to argue, but Bruce interrupted. “Can I talk to you, Tony? Alone?”

Tony looked like he was going to refuse, but then shrugged and went back into the room. Bruce followed, shutting the door behind him. Tony sat down on the side of the bed and looked at Bruce, who had no idea what to say. He looked around at the room. Clothes and empty bottles littered the floor. “Aren’t you a little too old for partying?” Bruce said, attempting a joke. It came out as more of an accusation.  

Tony’s reply was immediate and scathing. “So is that why you don’t like me, Bruce? Because I’m old?”

Bruce blinked. The harshness of Tony’s tone surprised him. He stepped closer. “I… Tony. No… Tony, I like you a lot.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

This wasn’t at all how Bruce had imagined this conversation going. He stared at Tony. “I’m sorry,” he said, the phrase a natural reflex. 

Tony shook his head and went to look out of the window. Bruce stared at his back, took a deep breath, and started speaking. “I’m sorry. About everything. I do like you. A lot. I was just… You know, I’m not that brave, but I’m not particularly frightened by things either. I know nothing can kill me, not even myself. But this had me… scared.” He faltered, not knowing what else to say. Tony turned around and stared at him. 

“What are you telling me, Banner?" 

There weren’t many things Bruce thought he was good at. Well, science, but look where that had gotten him, and okay, he was an alright cook, but apart from that… But he had always considered himself a good kisser. It was one of the few things he knew how to do. And so he decided that actions spoke louder than words and stepped forward, closing the distance between them and kissing Tony, who sank immediately into Bruce, pulling him even closer. Bruce had imagined this for weeks, but his imagination was nothing compared to _this_ , and as they broke apart, their foreheads resting together, Tony’s hand resting on Bruce’s cheek, Bruce felt like he could do this for the rest of his life. He turned his head and placed a kiss on Tony’s neck, whispering against the skin of the man he had been wanting for months. “You know I’m not good for you.” 

“I’m not good for myself, really, am I?”

“I’m… unpredictable.”

“So am I.”

“I’m different. I’m dangerous.”

“Maybe I like a little danger.”

Bruce closed his eyes. Tony didn’t really get it. He didn’t get that he had a different way of life than most. He measured his time on a completely different scale: _days since last incident._  

“I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

Tony kissed Bruce, warm and insisting, and as their tongues touched, Bruce’s brain turned to mush. “You’re treating me like I don’t know what I’m doing,” said Tony, pulling back and pressing his cheek to Bruce’s, so his breath danced over his skin. “We can get lawyers, we can sign contracts and waivers if you want. But we don’t need them. I’m a grown man, you know. I can make my own decisions. I’m responsible.” Bruce couldn’t help but smile at that, and Tony smiled back, and, god, he loved seeing Tony smile, and so he decided that maybe even if Tony didn’t get it, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that their lips fit perfectly together, and he loved seeing Tony smile, and Tony’s hands were on his back, pulling them close, and he was acutely aware of their crotches pressing together. 

“God,” said Tony, his breath hot over Bruce’s ear. “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages. You don’t know how hard it’s been resisting you, Banner.” He trailed his tongue over Bruce’s ear, making Bruce’s breath catch in his throat.

“I know exactly how hard it was,” he replied, his voice hoarse. 

They kissed, urgently, bodies pressed together, a tangle of legs and arms and tongues falling onto the bed. Months of pent-up sexual frustration - years, perhaps - came tumbling out of the both of them, and Bruce was immediately lost among the sensations. Tony’s mouth left trails of fire wherever it went, and as his lips wrapped around his cock Bruce thought he might explode.  

Things are never as you imagine them, are they? But as Bruce fell into the ocean that was Tony Stark, he decided that this was much, much better than what he had imagined. It was hard and soft, insistent and needy, and the waves of Tony’s soft moans sounded better than the best symphony as Bruce buried his fingers in the man of iron. It was less like exploration and more like discovery. 

And Bruce was no artist, but he painted pictures on the canvas of Tony’s skin with his tongue, and as he leant back and looked at the man spread beneath him he imagined that this would be how Michelangelo felt as he gazed upon his finished frescoes in the Sistine Chapel. He entered Tony, immersed himself in his warmth, the most spectacular thing: _breathtaking_. 

Afterwards they lay together; for a moment it was like joy was a tangible thing, like you could touch it. A thousand new possibilities bloomed before Bruce, a new future began to unfurl. He rested his head on Tony’s chest, listening to his faint heartbeat. It thumped gently from behind the ring of metal and light. Bruce closed his eyes and decided that maybe he could actually do this. 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._  

Maybe he could change. Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe… Just maybe he could save himself for once. 


End file.
